


Your Hands are Just Like Ice

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re so mean when you’re tired.”</p><p>“I just spent over eleven hours in ice skates, I have the right to be mean.” He stretches his arms above his head, groaning as his back pops loudly. It doesn’t do much to help his legs or ankles, but Chris thinks the only thing that can help at this rate is not moving for as a long as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Hands are Just Like Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Reaction fic to the Bryant Park filming.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Chris moans, falling back onto the hotel bed.

“I don’t think I have legs anymore.” Darren flops on the bed beside him, instantly curling up and closing his eyes. “Wake me up tomorrow.”

“I hate you,” Chris whines. “I hate you because you get to sleep and I have to do things, and I hate you.”

“You’re so mean when you’re tired.” Darren nudges at Chris with his foot and,  _gross_ , he’s still wearing his shoes.

“I just spent over eleven hours in ice skates, I have the right to be mean.” He stretches his arms above his head, groaning as his back pops loudly. It doesn’t do much to help his legs or ankles, but Chris thinks the only thing that can help at this rate is  _not moving_  for as a long as possible. “I need to change so I can sleep, but that means  _moving_.”

“No, no moving.” Darren turns his face into a pillow, muffling the sound of his voice. There are two beds in the room, and somehow they’ve both managed to collapse on the one closest to the door. What Chris would really die for is a shower, or a  _bath_ , but walking and standing are even less appealing than the idea of just shifting his limbs to get undressed so he can  _sleep_.

He moves his feet, struggling to get his shoes off without actually moving any other part of his body. He’s so  _sore_  already, and he doesn’t even want to think about how he’ll feel when he wakes up (in a few  _hours_ ). Chris hisses, even as his shoes are worked free and slide to the floor with a thunk, but already he feels a million times better.

“Stop wiggling,” Darren murmurs, and Chris flops his hand to smack the nearest body part he can—which happens to be Darren’s thigh. “Jerk.”

“Shut up,” Chris gripes back, wiggling his toes within his socks and then beginning to take those off, as well.

“What are you doing?” Darren doesn’t sound annoyed—he mostly sounds overtired.

“Taking my clothes off,” Chris mumbles back, sighing when his feet are  _free_. He never wants to wear shoes  _again_.

“Oh?” The bed bounces slightly and Chris reluctantly turns his head to see that Darren is looking at him. Expectantly.

“Are you serious right now?”

“What?” Darren asks, eyes bright with faked innocence.

“Oh my god, you’re like some sort of dog and sex is like… Bacon or something.” Chris debates whether or not he should bother with his pants or jacket first.

“Bacon? Really?”

“I’m tired, fuck off.”

He decides pants.

“Are you really going to sleep in your clothes?” He asks, distractedly, most of his concentration focused on wiggling out of his pants with as little effort as possible.

“I dunno. Maybe?”

“Then sleep in the other bed.”

Darren gasps over-dramatically, but Chris can’t care because his jeans are  _off_  and if he wasn’t wearing a jacket (and a sweater and a t-shirt and  _fuck_  layers) he’d probably stop there. Instead, he very slowly picks himself up until he’s sitting, and begins to discard his layers over the edge of the bed.

“You’ll be cold in just your boxers and your undershirt.”

“I’m not going to dig for my sweats in my bag, I’ll survive.”

“I’ll be cold in just my boxers?”

Because Darren doesn’t do undershirts if he can help it. That, or he just really likes to wear as little as possible when he can get away with it—not that Chris is complaining.

“Are you trying to ask for something?” When Chris looks over, Darren already has his chest bare and is wincing as he starts taking his pants off. “Because we’re not having sex, I’m too tired.”

“I think about more than sex, you know.” Darren falls back against the pillows with an _oomph_ , completely undressed in half the time it took Chris. Chris starts to form a retort, but then Darren just opens his arms and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Really?”

“I’m cold.” Darren folds his fingers in, making grabby hands for Chris, and Chris can’t help but laugh.

“No, you aren’t.”

“…no, I’m not, but I will be.  _And_  we spent forever on the ice.  _And_  I know you were freezing. So let me do what I couldn’t do then.” Darren does the hand thing again, and as much as it’s going to pain him to inch up the bed, Chris didn’t really expect to fall asleep with his legs folded over the edge.

It takes longer than it should for him to inch up towards the headboard, but once he’s close enough, Darren just grabs him and pulls him the rest of the way in. They aren’t even under the covers, tangling themselves up right on top—Darren’s fingers are cold, even through the fabric of Chris’s shirt, and he shivers.

“See? You’re cold,” Darren hums, smugly.

“No,  _your_   _hands_  are cold.” Chris grabs at Darren’s forearms, bringing his hands in between them and then sandwiching them between their own.

“You take such good care of me,” Darren coos, and Chris rolls his eyes, even if he’s fighting a bit of a smile. Darren slides their hands around, totally ruining Chris’s attempt at warming them, but slipping their fingers together until their arms are just as knotted together as their legs. It’s quiet, and Darren just brings their bundle of fingers close to his mouth, leaning close so that his breath is hot against Chris’s (and his own) skin.

“I never want to go ice skating again,” Chris whispers, and Darren cracks a smile.

“Liar.”

“Because I’m so good at it,” Chris comments dryly, and Darren nudges him with his knee.

“You just need to practice.” Darren pulls their hands in close to his chest, and then leans in close so that he can rub his nose against Chris’s. “Plus, I’m an awesome teacher.”

“You just want to show off.”

“Maybe a little.” Darren doesn’t stop bumping their noses together. “But it’s fun.” Chris raises an eyebrow. “Well, it’s fun when you aren’t forced to do it for eleven hours straight. Which no one ever does.” Darren nods, matter-of-factly.

“Can we talk about ice skating when I can roll my ankles without wanting to die?”

“Of course.” Darren has that look in his eyes, the one that tells Chris he might regret saying as much. “My poor baby,” Darren whispers, and it’s not even in a mocking way—Chris knows that Darren must have the same aches as he does, if not worse. After all, he’d had to do a lot more skating than Chris.

“Shut up.” Chris bumps their noses together this time, and Darren eye’s crinkle up with a smile. “I need to go to sleep.”

“Okay.” But Darren doesn’t move; he just pulls Chris in closer.

“I’d like to sleep with a blanket over me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And we need to turn the light off.”

Fuck, Chris does not want to get up to do that.

“Alright.”

Chris levels Darren with a gaze, but Darren just stares back with a soft look in his eyes—the kind of look that always disarms Chris and makes his words twist up all funny. It’s quiet for a moment, and the amount of staring that’s going on is very reminiscent of the scenes they’d just been filming. Only there’s no director to yell cut, and no script telling them what to do.

Darren leans in, and Chris’s eyes flutter shut, and—

Darren sweetly kisses the top of his nose. It startles Chris, eyes opening to look at Darren, but he’s just smiling.

“Get under the covers, and I’ll get the light.”

Chris misses Darren’s hands as soon as he lets go.

“I have to piss anyways.”

Chris snorts, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

“So charming.”

Darren just sends him a cheeky wink and then disappears, so Chris works on maneuvering between the surprisingly soft hotel comforter. It’s warm, and Chris suddenly feels a hundred times closer to sleep than he had moments before. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be conscious when Darren finally plops back into bed.

The lights flip off, the bed dips, and arms are curving around his waist, drawing him into being the little spoon (and he loves when he’s the little spoon).

“You’re not getting out of cuddling that easily,” Darren murmurs, his breath hot against the back of Chris’s neck. He hooks his chin over Chris’s shoulder, arms winding in tight until they’re sealed together. Darren always wraps himself around Chris, like he’s afraid Chris might try to escape (as if he would even  _dream_  of it).

Chris finds Darren’s hands, lacing them together again, already feeling comforted by how much warmer they are. Cuddling isn’t exactly a cure for how horrible his body is feeling, but it certainly won’t make it any worse.

“Chris,” Darren whispers, and Chris hums in acknowledgement, eyes closed and Darren’s warmth and presence already having him half asleep. But Darren wiggles him, obviously trying to get his attention, so Chris turns his head back as much as he can.

“What?”

Darren leans in, placing an off center kiss to Chris’s lips, and then nuzzles into his neck, content.

“Goodnight,” he whispers against Chris’s skin, and Chris smiles into his pillow.

“Goodnight.”


End file.
